


Many Paths

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Gen, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-05
Updated: 2004-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy dreams.  Written for <a href="http://inspiration.just-in-dreams.com/">Shirasade's Inspiration v.2 challenge</a>, using the quote included.  Thanks to LJ users mctaggart_pegg, sunsetmog, elvea78, circe_tigana, anniesj, fitofpique, and semaphore27 for reasons which may or may not become obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many Paths

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

The boy, who had been to a dance the night before, remained asleep. He lay with his limbs uncovered. He lay unashamed, embraced and penetrated by the sun. The lips were parted, the down on the upper was touched with gold, the hair broken into countless glories, the body was a delicate amber. To anyone he would have seemed beautiful, and to Maurice who reached him by two paths he became the World's desire.  
(E.M. Forster - Maurice)

 

 

In his dream, Billy is standing in a clearing in Fangorn Forest, and they’ve moved the trees again, so he doesn’t know quite which way to go. It’s alright, though, because Dom’s with him, and even though they’re dressed in street clothes, this seems completely natural to Billy.

“Ready then, Bills?” Dom asks. His eyes are peculiarly intent, Billy notices, more grey than blue at the moment.

Billy smiles and nods, and they start walking. Dom seems to know the way already, and Billy is content to follow when the path becomes too narrow for them to walk comfortably side by side.

The more they walk the darker it gets, and now Billy can’t always see Dom ahead. He follows a curve in the path, and realizes that Dom’s not in front of him anymore. He must have taken a different turn. Billy keeps walking, because what else is there to do?

*

He’s sitting in Gran’s kitchen, and there’s Peg sitting there across from him. She looks about 16 right now, elbows on the table, and chin in her hands, but he knows it’s an illusion. He thinks maybe they’ve been talking about something else, but suddenly he says, “I think I might propose to Ali.”

Peg peers at him in surprise over those coke-bottle glasses she wore back then, and asks, “What does Dom think of that?”

The part of Billy’s brain that knows he’s dreaming notes that the conversation so far is just like the one he had with his sister on the phone the day before, except that now he can see her reactions. And of course, her face, which wavers somewhere between her real age, and his memories of her, growing up.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I haven’t told him yet.” This makes him feel guilty, for some reason.

“Why not?” Peg’s frowning, confused, and now she looks closer to 40. “He’s your best mate, Billy. More important to you than anyone. You always said he knew you better than you knew yourself. ‘Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle’, yeah? Why wouldn’t you talk to him about this?” She sounds surprised and concerned.

“What does it matter?” Billy asks defensively. “He gets along fine with Ali. He’ll probably be thrilled.”

“Oh Billy,” his sister shakes her head. “You haven’t been paying attention.”

*

It comes to him gradually that the moment in the clearing was only a pause, a rest, and they’ve actually been walking for much longer. In fact, Billy remembers vaguely, at the beginning of the path, he’d been stripped to his boxers for some reason, and Dom had come up and thrown his arms around Billy in a giant hug, and said in that joyful way of his, “You must be my Pip!”

He’s fully dressed now, though, and alone. Dom’s gone off on another path, it seems, and Billy doesn’t know which of them to fear for more in the gathering dark. There’s a chill to the air that bites at his exposed skin, and he shivers. The woods look every bit as sinister as Fangorn did onscreen, although he’s never found the set frightening before.

He’s never been inside it without Dom.

*

They’re sitting in a tree on the Amon Hen location. It will be months before they shoot their scenes in Treebeard, so the idea still holds novelty appeal. The late afternoon sun is golden on their faces as they sit back and watch the crew set up a scene on the riverbank that doesn’t include them.

“Do you know what happens to Merry and Pippin?” Dom quizzes Billy lazily.

Billy remembers this conversation, too.

“Yeah, they grow old and die together, right? Just like an old married couple.”

“Ah, but Pippin actually _does_ get married first. Has some kids. Leaves his poor Merry all alone, and after he promised to take care of him.” Was that hint of bitterness there before? Billy can’t remember. Dom’s smile is unfaltering, betrays nothing. Perhaps he’s imagined it.

“But he goes back to his Merry in the end,” Billy counters, grinning. “Goes off to do the matching plots bit in Gondor, yeah?”

“Not before deserting his best mate, though,” Dom points out stubbornly. He throws a hand to his forehead melodramatically. “Don’t leave me, Pip! Don’t leave your Merry all alone for a sultry Hobbit wench and a litter of Halfling whelps!”

Billy’s still giggling at Dom’s over-the-top gestures when he notices something else he doesn’t remember. Was there always that sheen of tears there, right beneath the surface, threatening Dom’s clownish grin? There’s a pain there, stark in the stormy blue eyes, that cuts Billy deeply. Has it always been there, and he’s just not noticed?

But that doesn’t make any sense, he thinks. He didn’t even know Alison then.

And then wonders what he means by that.

*

The twisted trunks and branches are more than eerie now, seem downright threatening, in fact. Billy wishes he weren’t alone, and almost as soon as he wishes it, he’s not. Ali’s walking next to him, and she’s talking at length about something that Billy gradually realizes is her plan for their wedding. Hundreds of guests, she thinks, and a big cathedral – maybe that nice one that Paul McCartney got married in? Of course, they’ll allow plenty of photographers at _their_ wedding. And Billy will want to have a nice chat with his friend Dom, explain why Ali’s brother is going to be best man, and wouldn’t it be best, really, if Dom didn’t come?

Billy stops dead in his tracks, and demands to know why Dom shouldn’t come.

Ali giggles, as if it’s the silliest question she’s ever heard. “You have _me_ now, Billy. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

*

He’s lying on his belly on a hardwood floor, in the living room of the New Zealand beach house. There’s no coffee table, and they’ve decided to play cards, so they’re stretched out on the big, uncarpeted floor. Billy’s winning when he looks up, only to find Dom sound asleep, his cards still poised near his peaceful face.

Billy remembers this moment, even though it’s filed away in the back of his mind with others he’s tried not to recall.

The lamplight falls softly over Dom’s face and hair, and Billy finds himself breathless at the sight. He doesn’t think often about how beautiful his best mate is – it’s not the thing a best mate _should_ think, and so he doesn’t, often – but beautiful is the only word to describe Dom in this particular moment. Beautiful, and peaceful, and softly touchable. Billy’s hand is reaching out before he realizes it, tracing light fingertips over Dom’s feather-soft hair, and cupping his cheek gently.

Before he can disentangle himself from this need to touch, from the emotion rising in his throat…before he can pull away from the soft warmth of Dom’s skin, and of his breath ghosting over Billy’s hand…he sees the one thing missing from this breathtaking scene, the one thing he’s longing for, craving as he looks on, watching Dom sleep, watching his own thumb tracing Dom’s lower lip softly. Dom opens his eyes.

Blue and grey, heat and tenderness, confusion and hope, desire and yes, love. All of these are there for Billy to see, to hear when Dom breathes his name.

Billy inhales sharply, pulls away. Pushes himself of the floor in a swift, twisting motion, praying that Dom won’t see or notice the hard bulge in his jeans. Mumbles something about Dom having something on his mouth, and stalks from the room. Tomorrow, when he comes out of his bedroom, finally, he’ll pretend nothing happened.

But he won’t forget.

*

It’s nearly full dark now, and Billy’s shivering, stumbling over roots as he muddles forward blindly. Alison’s disappeared – he thinks maybe he lost her on purpose – and he’s alone and tired, and on the edge of tears. The ground is cold beneath his shoes, and he can’t tell if there’s a moon out tonight, can’t see the stars between the thick, grasping branches overhead.

He’s lost, and he wants to go home, but he can’t quite remember where home is anymore.

*

He’s sitting at Gran’s table again, and Gran’s kneeling there, wiping his bloody knees with a damp flannel. He’s trying to explain to her why he needed to fight Simon, and why he can’t see out of the eye that he’s now soothing with a towelfull of ice.

“It’s the rules, Gran. I had to fight him. They would’ve beat me good if I hadn’t.”

He remembers now. He must’ve been about 12 at the time, and Simon was his best mate. But schoolyard rules were tough and unrelenting in that part of Glasgow, and he’d followed them without question, knowing Simon would understand.

Gran sighs, and looks him full in the face. Her grey eyes are clear and calm and a little sad. “Will you ever learn, William, which rules to break and which to keep?”

*

He’s so lonely now that he almost wishes for Alison back. But not quite. No, he knows who he needs right now, the only one he trusts to help him find his way out of this mess. He stops dead, knowing that wherever he and Dom parted paths, he won’t find it ahead of him, not in the direction he’s been going. He needs to retrace his steps, find the fork in the road where he lost Dom.

He turns and walks, slowly at first, and then more quickly. He may not know the way, but he knows that he’s lost too much time already.

*

He’s wearing his kilt, as well he should be. It’s a night for celebration, a night for Glasgow, and he’s a guest of honor. The party is a mix of locals and guest stars, and most of his friends are there to celebrate with him, although Alison’s out of the country just now.

In the back of his mind, he wonders if the dream must be coming to an end, as this memory’s only hours old.

His eyes scan the crowd, and he realizes he’s looking for Dom. The conversation with Peg is still fresh in his mind, and he still hasn’t figured out quite what she meant. He wants to ask his mate, see if Dom would know. Except then he’ll have to tell Dom about how he thought he might propose to Ali, and now he can’t remember why he wanted to do that.

There he is! He’s walking up behind Orlando, who looks as if someone else – maybe even Dom himself – has dressed him tonight, which is to say: presentable. Dom, of course, is deadly handsome in a tailored black suit with an indigo tie and matching nails, and heads turn, as they always do, to watch him. When he gets right up behind Orlando, he slips his arms around his friend’s waist and presses his face intimately into the curve of Orlando’s neck.

Billy swallows, eyes locked on his friends. He knows what’s coming, but he can’t look away.

Grinning, Orlando slips a hand into Dom’s carefully mussed hair, caressing. Dom lifts his head, and the hand slips to cup his cheek, as Orlando leans back into the long, passionate kiss. When they part, Dom’s lips are pink and slightly swollen, and his eyes are dark.

Billy can’t breathe. He’s torn between the urge to sit down quickly – before anyone glances below his waist, and sees just how much that look on Dom’s face affects him, for even the sporran he wears is no camouflage now – and the urge to run from the room. He makes his way calmly to the door, and slips outside into the cool night air. He knows he can’t run, but he desperately wants to escape.

*

Billy’s running now, and the forest seems to part for him. He breaks into a clearing that he doesn’t remember, and there before him is a familiar face. “Gandalf?” he asks, disbelieving. For it’s clearly Gandalf, and not just Ian in costume.

“What mischief have you gotten yourself into now, William?” Gandalf’s voice is gruff, and his eyebrows are drawn together in a scowl normally reserved for foolish Tooks. It’s all oddly reassuring to Billy, who feels the sudden urge to confess everything and leave it all in Gandalf’s big, capable hands.

“I’ve lost my Merry – my Dommeh, I mean,” he admits, surprised by the tears that now threaten to choke him. “And now I can’t find him.”

“Well, can’t you go on without him?” Gandalf asks impatiently.

Billy remembers abruptly that Gandalf was a bit of a pain in the arse sometimes. “No, I can’t,” he snaps indignantly. “And yes, I tried. But I can’t – and I don’t want to!” So there.

“William,” Gandalf sighs. “Why don’t you settle down? Marry a nice lass, and have some wee babes.” He gestures, and Billy realizes that Alison is with them now, smiling sweetly. He wonders why he never noticed before that she’s wearing a Hobbit dress, with flowers in her hair and a bouquet in her hands. “It’s what you’re meant to do.”

“I don’t want to,” he says quietly, and is surprised by the firmness of his own voice. “I don’t want to, and I won’t. I just want my Dommeh.”

“That’s not in the script,” Gandalf hisses, threatening.

“I don’t care,” Billy replies stubbornly. “It’s time to change the script.”

*

There’s someone sitting on the steps, and Billy realizes it’s Viggo. This isn’t what he remembers. He remembers deep breaths and forcing himself not to cry. He remembers fixing a smile on his face, and delivering an Oscar-worthy performance as a happy, go-lucky movie star. He remembers an early night, and tears that aren’t dry by the time he falls asleep.

He goes with the dream, because it seems easier. He sits down next to his friend, who seems unsurprised to see him.

Billy opens his mouth to greet Viggo, but what comes out is “What the hell’s going on with Orlando and Dom?”

Viggo just smiles. “What does it matter?” he asks calmly.

Billy shrugs, tries for unconcern. “Just curious,” he lies. “Dom’s my best mate, after all.”

Viggo looks out into the night. “You like Orlando, though, right?”

“Of course.” At this very moment, that’s a lie, too, though. At this very moment, he’d like nothing more than to disembowel the pretty boy interloper with a spoon. Slowly.

“You should be thrilled, then.” He meets Billy’s eyes, and too late, Billy sees the trap.

“I’m not,” he admits quietly, looking away. “I’m not alright at all.” He feels the tears, hot and bitter, gathering behind his lids, and swallows, as if he can force them back.

“I think you’re starting to pay attention.”

Billy half-expects to see Peg there instead of Viggo when he looks up, but it’s still his old mate, smiling gently.

Billy sighs. “It’s not Dom’s feelings I’m meant to have been noticing, is it?”

Viggo doesn’t answer for a moment, and when Billy looks up, he sees respect in his friend’s eyes. When he finally speaks, though, it’s nothing Billy expects to hear. “Orlando’s a good guy, you know? He helps his friends out. Even the ones who don’t know they need help.”

Viggo stands, then, and helps Billy to his feet. “Why don’t you go home now?” he suggests. “Dom’s waiting.”

And even though he just saw Dom inside, this makes perfect sense Billy, who starts walking, even though he brought his car. This, too, makes perfect sense.

*

Billy’s sitting in the dirt at a crossroads, and all around him are paths and more paths. Gandalf’s gone now, and in his place is Peter, who’s wearing Gandalf’s hat.

“If you’re going to change the script, you’re going to have to choose your path,” he tells Billy. He looks tired, because Peter always looks tired, and it is, after all, the middle of the night, Billy thinks.

“How do I know which one to choose?” he asks.

“You have to watch the dailies,” Peter answers, as if it’s obvious.

Billy looks around and sees that each of the paths has a screen hanging from the branches overhead, and each of the screens shows a different scenario.

In some, Billy’s married to Ali, and in some, he’s married to someone else. In a few, he’s married to the nice Hobbit woman from Sam’s wedding scene. He shakes his head, as if trying to clear away cobwebs or strong narcotics. In some he’s alone. At first glance, these seem darker than the ones in which he’s married, but the closer he looks at the others, the more he sees the brittleness in his smile, and the loss in his eyes.

And then there are the few where he’s with Dom. They aren’t all radiant, as he might have expected, but there’s a certainty to each of them, a fearlessness of love and life that he craves.

In one, he’s sitting at a table somewhere, with Dom on his lap – the lad’s nearly as light as a feather, anyway – and Dom’s writing something on his hands. When he looks up, Billy’s breath is stolen away by the love in his eyes.

In another, Dom’s trying to watch TV, and Billy’s reading something on his laptop very closely. Billy-in-Fangorn gets a good peek over his shoulder, and reads a few lines that give him some lovely ideas and make his jeans feel much, much tighter.

In the back of his mind, Billy resigns himself to waking with one hell of a hard-on.

As he watches, the action proceeds until the two of them are standing in the street, in the rain, holding a bag of snacks and drinks, and having a rather absurd conversation – although no more absurd than many of their conversations now, Billy acknowledges – that somehow ends in kisses and foolish grins that make Billy’s heart do some impressive gymnastic maneuvers.

On the next screen, Billy sees himself and Dom in hospital scrubs, holding two beautiful baby girls, one of whom has Dom’s nose and lips and the other has Billy’s unmistakable filtrum. The happiness on the faces of the two men is so radiant that it almost hurts Billy physically to watch.

On another, Dom’s nursing a fat lip and a swelling, blackened eye following a senseless barfight – in which he was defending Billy’s honor, as it turns out – and Billy can feel the need to heal him welling up, but Billy-on-the-screen is angry, and words are exchanged, and Billy walks away, only to be chased down. More words, then, and while Billy doesn’t get around to healing Dom this time, as Billy-in-Fangorn watches, they slowly make each other whole.

On the final screen, Dom’s lying in a hospital bed, broken and twisted, and Billy’s singing softly, an old John Lennon song, and weeping at his side. Billy watches, transfixed by the pain on his own face, in his voice, in the tears that stream hotly down it. The pain there is another face of love, he knows. Long moments go by, as he watches, and then, unexpectedly, one of Dom’s fingers brushes Billy’s hand, and Billy-on-the-screen and Billy-in-Fangorn weep with joy. That’s it, Billy thinks. That’s what life with Dom means. Hope. Even in the darkest hours, hope.

“Well?” He’s forgotten that Peter’s waiting.

“What about that one?” Billy points at the path next to the final screen, where there is no picture at all.

Peter scratches his beard absently. “That one’s tough,” he tells Billy. “That one you have to make for yourself. I can’t make any guarantees.”

And then Billy knows. “That’s my path, then.”

Peter smiles then, and Billy sees a little of Gandalf in him, and maybe if he looks hard enough, a little of Viggo and Peg and even Gran there. “That’s the one Dom took, you know,” he tells Billy. “When you separated, he went that way. If you hurry, you can catch him.”

And as Billy starts running, the sun begins to rise.

*

Billy’s eyes flicker open and he looks around. What a weird dream, he thinks.

He sits up and realizes he’d been right about his physical condition, after all. He adjusts his boxers, and reaches for a pair of jeans.

While he dresses, he looks out the window. It looks cold, he thinks suddenly. Perhaps it’s time to find someplace warmer. He wants to think about packing, and probably ought to make the necessary call to Ali, but he has something far more important to do first, and if this doesn’t go well, he might as well stay in cold, lonely Glasgow until he rots, because it won’t matter anyway.

Dom’s on the couch, just as Billy expected. He’s got his key after all, and Billy’s offered to let him stay there – and even though he’d be far more comfortable in a posh hotel, he’d agreed – long before last night.

Billy thrusts his hands into his pockets as he approaches his sleeping mate. It’s full morning, and the sunlight streaming in the window bathes him in a glow that seems both ethereal and completely appropriate. He’s beautiful. Billy swallows hard, feeling the pull even stronger than he had that long-ago night at the New Zealand beach house. He’s exactly what Billy wants, needs, loves. Billy knows that now.

Dom’s clothes are strewn over a chair, Billy sees with a smile, but it’s only a fraction of a moment before his attention is tugged back to the sleeping figure, nearly and unashamedly naked but for a blanket pilfered from Billy’s closet. Billy feels himself grow warm at the sight of Dom wrapped in his blanket, and feels a bit foolish at the thought. They’ve been wearing each other’s clothes for ages, after all. But this feels different.

His eyes travel over Dom’s body like a caress, and he realizes he’s stepped closer. He swallows again, and adjusts his twitching erection quickly. His eyes squeeze tightly shut for a long moment as he prays this goes well. He feels a warm touch on his palm, and looks down to see Dom’s hand curling over his. Dom’s eyes are questioning when Billy meets his gaze.

Billy looks into those eyes for a moment, and finds everything he needs. “I’m ready now, Dom. Can we go home?”


End file.
